


Rank and Refile

by Domimagetrix



Series: Razwan Bahir, World Guardian [7]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Adult Language, Adult-Themed Dialogue, Frank Sex References, Sparring, Talkin' Smack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domimagetrix/pseuds/Domimagetrix
Summary: Razwan teaches Daquarius something about playing by the rules. In turn, Daquarius reminds her what happens to the cocky in his training field.





	Rank and Refile

_Dance that you’re doin’ is dumb, how they do it where you from?_  
_Stickin’ out your tongue, girl, but you know you’re too young_  
_A bunch of girls do it and the shit look fun, that’s how they do it where we from  
_ _You know it don’t start ‘til one, that’s how they do it where they from_

 

Missy Elliott - “WTF (Where They From)”

 

I sat on an equipment bench, gnawing an apple and watching Daquarius stride between pairs of sparring soldiers in the Kinshra castle’s training grounds. Portions of his dark hair twitched in the breeze. He wore black armor bearing little distinction from the soldiers’, and as such he often went helmetless during practice for easy identifiability.

Not that his sharp bellowing of orders didn’t do the job well enough.

His voice rose above the grunts and wooden clacking of practice weapons. “Rowan! Break and approach! How many times have I told you not to bring unapproved weapons in here?”

The solder - Rowan - backed away from his partner and lifted his helmet, tossing it to the ground in frustration. Hair so pale it was nearly white moved in the wind now as Daquarius’s did, save locks that’d been darkened yellow with sweat plastered to the sides of his face. The boy was fourteen or fifteen years old at most, his frame too lanky for the armor, his movements a little too graceless to be the product of exhaustion. He moved dejectedly out of the field and faced his superior officer with flushed cheeks.

I watched as Daquarius pointed sternly at something in the boy’s hand, and the boy lifted it to reveal a bolo, its weighted ends swinging counterpoint to each other. Instructor lectured student for a while before pointing him in my direction and calling to the others to stop for the day.

Bolo still swinging in his hand, the boy clumped to the bench where I sat and helped himself to some of the space on the other side, huffing as he sat. He slid a gauntleted hand through his hair, muttering to himself more than to me. “I can’t beat anyone without cheating. He _knows_ that, but he won’t let me use anything to help. What’s the _point?”_

Tossing the apple core, I stood up and pointed at the bolo in his hand. “Want to see something? Let me borrow that a minute.”

He held it up, giving me a considering look before stretching his arm out and letting the little weapon slide into my hand. I winked at him as I wound it, stowing it in a pocket. “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll have it right back.” The boy gave me a tentative smile and I smiled back.

Turning, I waved and hailed Daquarius. “Hey, Red-Eye!”

He turned, spotting me and grinning. “That’s a laugh, coming from you. Yours look bloodshot to hell and back.” He pointed at his own red iris illustratively before letting his hand drop. “Doubly funny since you got lost on the third floor of Daemonheim.”

I snorted, slapping the plate over his arm as I reached him. “Fuck off. That was years ago. Besides, everything looks the same when it’s coated in ice.”

He shook his head, snickering. “You say that shit with a straight face, and you from the desert?”

“Desert has the decency to look different in different places. Dunes, scrublands, plains, sandstone hills, oases. Sands with different colors in ‘em, bleached, red sandstone, pink. Ice is fuckin’ ice. Looks like cold blue-white shit no matter what you do with it.” I smiled. “If I didn’t know better, Rennard, I’d say you almost look too tired to spar.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you ever just visit without starting shit?”

My smile became an outright grin. “Strength through cha-”

“Fuck off with the slogans and get in the ring.” He spoke again as I turned toward the half-enclosed field. “Aren’t you going to get a weapon?”

I hopped the fence door and started rolling my shoulders. “If I wanted some wood I’d go home to Nomad.”

Daquarius’s laugh echoed over the field, students slow to depart looking up in surprise. “That still kills me, you and Nomad. He’s, what, a hundred years old? _That_ must be lively. No wonder you show up here to spar. Gives you the chance to work off all that disappointment.”

“Stuff it under your butt-plate, Rennard. Gotta work out like a _fiend_ to keep up with the Scourge of Souls.” I wiggled my fingers in the air in parody of menace. “Maaaaagic.”

It was his turn to snort. He opened the gate and shut it behind him. “You can squat over his obelisk all you want to, Bahir. I’ve got better shit to do.”

I hopped in place, feeling blood move a little faster in my veins. “You would if you’d go talk to Moia instead of sitting here polishing your sword.”

Daquarius rotated his wrist, the practice weapon weaving ovals in the air. “Keeps my sword shiny.” He widened his stance, sliding one foot forward. “The usual?”

I nodded. “I hand you your ass, you bitch and moan, then you pay for the drinks.” I moved my own feet into a balanced stance. “Now let’s see Zamorak’s finest soldier clump all the way to his doom.”

It wasn’t a clump, and Daquarius could move in all that armor when he wanted to. Still, I’d been Quen’s student for too long. While my opponent was fairly swift given the extra weight, it was an underwater dance compared to the instinct-fast dodging I’d learned while avoiding a certain silver-gray staff.

He stepped and swung. I moved, tempted to roll, but economy of motion had been another of Quen’s lessons that’d become ingrained in me. A side-step did the job, and a back-step neatly avoided his return upswing. I ducked, stepped again, and skidded, giving him time to wear himself down.

He was panting. “Stop wiggling and fuckin’ fight, Bahir.” He swung again.

I back-stepped. “I will when you stop doing calisthenics and try to hit me, Rennard.”

He growled something and jabbed forward. I jerked back, ducked the next swing, stood, and planted a boot against his chestplate, shoving him back.

Daquarius staggered. I danced farther away from him, turning so he couldn’t see me reach for the pocket and the bolo inside.

He shot forward and I threw.

The bolo spun end-over-end, tangling itself around his feet.

His eyes widened as he fell. I laughed as I darted in, drawing my pesh and holding it against the back of his neck.

I kept my tone light and casual. “Y’know, if I’d wanted to work of some ‘disappointment,’ I think I’d pick more challenging fare.”

Daquarius waved his gauntleted hand and I stepped back, sliding my blade back into its sheath as he unwound the boy’s tricky little weapon from around his boots.

He sighed. “The kid just watched you use unapproved equipment. You cheated. I’m trying to break him of that shit.”

I reached down to him and he accepted my hand with his free one. I hauled him up and accepted the bolo once he’d righted himself. “Stop trying to break him of it. He’s not a soldier.”

“Not yet.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the equipment bench. “If he’d stop weighing himself down with unnecessary-”

“Rennard. I mean he’s _not a soldier._ You’re not going to be able to mold this kid. Wrong mindset.” I tapped my temple. “He’s looking for one-on-one advantages. If he fought any one of your other students for real, he’d walk away. He’s a survivor.”

Daquarius wiped sweat from his hairline. “What the hell use is a survivor? I need people who can fight in a team, not some lone wolf breaking ranks to do whatever the fuck he wants.”

I pointed at myself. “Survivors make shit soldiers. They make great assassins.” I let my hand drop. “Send him to my Soul Wars group. I need kids exactly like him, people who ignore the big fray and go for the bigger objective. Give me your sneaky fuckers.”

He looked back in the direction of the bench. The kid lifted his hand in a cheeky wave. I waved back from behind Daquarius and wiggled his bolo, setting the weighted ends swinging. Daquarius beckoned to the kid, who trotted heavily up to the gate. I returned his bolo to him and he grinned.

“You’re getting moved to Bahir’s area.” Daquarius pointed at me. “Soul Wars. Go home and let your parents know, then talk to Marksson in the morning and she’ll make sure you’re written in.” He pointed at the boy. “And don’t think you’re in the clear. Six laps around the whole field before you head out.”

The boy’s face lost a little smugness, but satisfaction remained in his eyes as he turned to start running. He shot me a wink before his boots began clip-clopping against the cool ground.

I watched him go. “He thinks he’s getting an easy transfer. Kid’s going to go through a fresh kind of hell with me.” I smirked, opening the gate and walking through.

Something whalloped me in the back and I stumbled, landing hard on hands and knees in the dirt.

Daquarius spoke from above me, tone mirthful. “Forgot to watch your ass, Bahir. Not good for survival.”

I grumbled as I stood, wiping dust from my pants and slapping it off my hands. “Fuck off. You’re still buying drinks.”

He clapped my back solidly, tossing an arm around my shoulders as we left the training grounds. “Then let’s go get some drinks, asshole.”

My hand went up to his shoulder guard and we made our way down to the equipment storage area. “Gonna drink up enough courage to talk to Moia?”

“Yep.”

I grinned. “‘Bout fuckin’ time.”

“Eat a dick.”

“Will when I get home.”

“Stop telling me things, Bahir.”

“Yep.”


End file.
